


Imperium

by 2davidbeckham3



Category: Football RPF
Genre: But I just wanted angst and I just got Luis angst tbh, Character Study - of sorts, Gen, It can be Pep Guardiola/Luis Enrique if you squint - it's the default setting for the shipper in me, Very slight Man City bashing (I guess?)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 07:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7425466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2davidbeckham3/pseuds/2davidbeckham3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Luis should have been happy over his team's victory, but, instead, takes time after the game to reflect on his position as the Barcelona's coach.</p><p> <em>Set after the Champions League Round of 16 Match on March 18, 2015, between FC Barcelona and Manchester City, which Barcelona won 1-0 (agg 3-1)</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Imperium

**Author's Note:**

> Remember that time that Pep watched Barcelona v Manchester City in the 2014/2015 UEFA Champions League at Camp Nou and had the best reactions to everything ever? Me too.
> 
> Now, let's take that and make it "angsty"  
>    
> Okay, so un-beta'd, so sorry if there's no actual plot, I had this idea ages ago and wanted to write it. Idk, I wanted angst and I seem to want able to write like 3 people - pep, becks, and lucho. (so, tbh, idk what this is really, i'm sorry).
> 
> Mostly just Luis angst because it's in his POV, of sorts, Pep doesn't come in until like 500 words in.  
>  
> 
> also disclaimer, though probs unnecessary?? but this is all made up and i bet luis is a great guy that doesn't let anything get to him, but this is just a "what if" it does and if it manifests itself in unexpected ways ie doubts after a victory

Luis should have been happy.

 

He was.

 

Just-

 

Not anymore.

 

The locker room, though gloriously empty, did nothing to improve his mood. The clinical chill that seeped into the space after the team’s celebrations ceased should have been a welcome atmosphere where Luis could gather himself and push away the intrusive thoughts that rattled around his brain. If anything, they seemed louder than before, echoing off the walls, mimicking jeers and howls that Luis couldn’t ward off.

 

It was embarrassing.

 

Luis had easily found what used to be his usual spot, his feet automatically taking him to the seat in the locker room that used to bare his initials, his former throne in this theatre full of kings. By his posture, one would have assumed that they had lost with the way he was hunched over and boring holes in the ground while he flexed his hands into fists, knuckles turning white every time he did so.  

 

He should have been happy.

 

The team danced around the former English Champions for the second time, securing themselves a spot in the quarter-finals. They made fools out the seasoned players, silencing the critics that straggled from last season’s campaign. Luis was proud of his team. Fiercely proud in the way that made his heart pound painfully in his chest while he looked out at the pitch and every breath felt like it was burning. Savagely thrilled in the display that was purely _blaugrana_ that he could feel resonating in his bones.

 

He was jealous.

 

It was a petty feeling, if all but beneath him. Though when the taste of champagne faded from his tongue, Luis could feel a phantom pain in his legs that reminded him of the injuries that cut his career short. The pain turned into envy of his team who played without a care in the world. He wanted to run on the pitch, orchestrating plays was never as satisfying. He was a born striker. He wanted to score goals. He was born to score goals. It’s what he lived for.

 

Or used to.

 

He was tired.

 

Tired of chasing shadows and being haunted by ghosts that never seemed to leave.

 

Maybe Luis wasn’t ready to for the job. After all, he answered the press with little to no grace, their pointed questions were poised to hurt. They wanted to take him by the neck and remind him of what he could never live up to. They always reminded him of that insurmountable legacy that he had no business approaching, that loomed before him like a mountain and was mercilessly called an idiot for even trying, though not in so many words. It was impossible to take him seriously since it took him half a season to come up with a consistent line-up and couldn’t be respected when he openly had a small fallout with icons of the club.

Of course, if he was asked, Luis would say that none of this mattered to him, but he was only human, after all. Darkness spawned self-doubts that were usually kept at bay with a day’s work and these bouts of insecurity, though rare, were suffocating. Vultures were ready to label him as a failure and who was he to tempt fate? How could he dare to aspire to the heights of the era that came before him?

 

Luis lets out a long suffering sigh at this, rubbing his face with his hand before looking over towards the door. The security guards knew he was here after hours and knew better than to bother him.

“What are you doing here, Guardiola?” Luis asks because it’s not a ghost that haunts him, but something infinitely more intangible than that conveniently stored in the essence of the man who stood before him. Luis knows better than to ask how he got in since anything is possible for the Messiah.

“Same as you,” Pep replies, and Luis is angry at how simple he makes it all sound.

Luis’ fingers are itching to grab a hold of something, anything, to vent out his frustration. He’s even tempted to claw out his own hair, but settles for digging his nails into his thighs, hard enough that he’s certain that he’s leaving small crescent shaped marks. Even so, he feels weak, squaring up to Pep, even standing wasn’t an option with the odd rush of adrenaline that coursed to his body – it was more of a last resort.

Luis wonders if Pep’s here to reclaim what most think is rightfully his and add to the taunts that follow him around in an endless stream of whispers, but the accusation dies on Luis’ tongue once he sees Pep’s own haunted expression. There are more lines on his face than Luis remembers, though these seem different than those marked by the passage of time. Pep seems weary, hunted, but tired of the chase.

 

Is this what it feels like to have an empire on the verge of crumbling?

 

Luis never considered himself a threat. They used to be equals on the pitch and now was no different, there was nothing to take as Luis aimed stake his own name into history and he wasn’t keen on erasing others’.

“I knew the security guard on duty,” Pep shrugs, finally drawing his eyes away from Luis’ and fixing his gaze somewhere to the side. “He let me in.”

Luis nods because he can’t think of a response, though he’s content with watching the oddly vulnerable Pep in front of him. Gone is the poise that Pep usually carries himself with, instead it’s replaced with hunched shoulders and crossed arms that seem to serve as a barrier between him and the rest of the world. His gaze is everywhere but Luis and he wonders if Pep is ever going to look in his direction again.

“Good game, by the way,” Pep shrugs again, though this time he’s walking towards Luis, his gaze on the floor while he stowed towards him, arms still crossed. At least Pep’s grace was innate. “You guys were amazing.”

“You watched?” Luis asks dumbly, but it’s worth it because Pep stops in front of him and looks up at him with the barest of smiles on his face, Luis’ comment successful in chasing away a bit of the worry in his stare.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” Pep mocks, quirking a brow tauntingly before sitting down next to Luis, leaning heavily against the locker behind him when he sat.

They share a look before turning to the room ahead of them, settling into a spell of tense silence that was just shy of comfortable

“It never gets any easier,” Pep says breaking the long stretch of silence. Luis risks a glance over at Pep and realizes that Pep’s eyes are shut. Even so, Pep’s expression is anything but serene, marred by a furrowed brow and a frown.

Luis doesn’t know what Pep is talking about, but he’s not tempted to ask. He knows Pep isn’t going to elaborate, and, even if he did, Luis wasn’t in the mood to hear it. There’s still a bitter taste in his mouth and he’s replaying tonight’s game in his head, the formerly sensational performance now reduced to a mass of mistakes, most of which he wouldn’t have done if he was on the field. If only he was on the field.

Still, that didn’t mean that Luis wasn’t curious. What did it mean for the prodigal son to return home? How did it feel to be judged on not living up to your own success? Oh, what a pain that must be, Luis thought bitterly.

“You might have to face me, you know,” Pep offers with a laugh, effectively pulling Luis from his thoughts yet again. It’s a bitter, jaded laugh causing Luis to wonder if Pep’s afraid to face the monster that he personally created.

“I’ll beat you,” Luis replies forcefully, the phrase heavy on his tongue. It’s a wonder if Pep understood him at all, the words felt like gravel and he spoke with less conviction that he would have hoped.

The message seems to get through because Pep turns and looks at him and Luis meets his unreadable gaze with what he hopes is a defiant one of his own.

 

At the end of the day, isn't Barcelona still Pep’s team?

 

No. They both know that it's not.

 

“I’d like to see you try,” Pep replies dryly, but it fails to mask the glimmer of resigned acceptance in his eyes.

 

Empires are destined to fall.

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you liked it! It was really hard like not making this romantic at the end, or at least more friendly, but I think I got the feeling of things, even if the conclusion was a bit rushed - I am falling asleep.
> 
> Edit: [Here](http://somosinvictos.com/2015/05/06/pep-guardiola-es-momento-de-que-te-enfrentes-al-monstruo-que-tu-mismo-creaste/) is where I got the inspiration for the monster line. The article in in Spanish, but the title translates to Pep Guardiola, this is the moment that you confront the monster [Messi] that you yourself created..." (More or less, my translation skills aren't that good lmao.) 
> 
>    
> \- Luis had like over 20 different starting line-ups in the when he first came to Barca (I think it was 22? Check back here later for the exact number).  
> \- Gerard and Lionel Messi were extremely unhappy with Luis at one point. Geri was benched for breaching Luis' no cellphone policy during games and Lio was angry at Luis for subbing him off during a game. They were both benched for a game, at one point - sorry my memory fails me, atm, so I don't remember exactly which one - and Lio was rumored to be transferring to Chelsea. (Lio actually waited by Luis' car after a game in the parking lot to talk to him ((there are pictures)).  
> \- However, rumors of the tension fizzled, not only though a mandatory press conference that was obviously damage control, but Lio kissed the crest to dispel rumors of his departure in the game following the accusations ((it's hanging up on my wall)), but both Lio and Luis celebrated their trophy wins amicably together that year). 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I would love your feedback, but it's okay if not because you all read - yay! (if you have any questions or concerns also leave those below!)


End file.
